


Recitation

by IneffableDoll



Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [22]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hand Kisses, Humor, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, No Angst, Rating for Language, Romance, Sappy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and there is absolutely no escape, but like do you even want to anyway?, it’s like a foam pit, the longer you stay the farther into the softness you sink, them using female pronouns doesn’t change the story because gender is a sham anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: Crowley confesses her love and is a nervous wreck about it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558
Comments: 16
Kudos: 66
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Recitation

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to write a classic, straightforward love confession fic that we’ve all read and written fourteen million times! The only thing somewhat unique about this fic is that I’ve gone for she/her pronouns for them both for literally no reason at all. Because gender identity and gender presentation do not need to align to validate the former, they look the same as in the show. Fluff! Enjoy!

Despite popular belief, Crowley was not a spontaneous nor reckless creature. She liked plans, she liked details, she liked strategizing the best route and following through for the perceived best results. She spent that whole first week planning how to sneak into Eden, after all. Aziraphale was the one who went spontaneously fobbing off weapons of holy flame to practically-infants.

Crowley leaned back in her extravagant throne and reread her speech.

“Angel,” she read aloud. “We’ve known each other for thousands of years. I’d like to think that we’ve been friends for most of it, though circumstances kept us apart for much of this time. I’ve always valued our regard for one another, and our hours and days shared have been the brightest spots in my long, demonic life. As such, the past year of freedom from our jobs has been so remarkably special, largely because I got to spend it with you.”

She rocketed out of her throne and began pacing. Her sock-clad feet shuffled through dozens of crumpled pieces of paper. Flashes of sonnets (“Happily I think on thee, and then my state, like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate”), flashes of literary quotes (“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you”), and flashes of drunken proclamations (“I’ve literally never been subtle in my entire damned life, how can you not know???”) could be seen below frantic scratched-out pen marks and spilled scotch. 

Crowley took a deep breath. “I have taken a long time to think over how much you mean to me,” she continued reading, “and have come to understand, over the centuries, that platonic friendship, while appropriate at the start, has slowly morphed to something else.

“I know you might not believe that demons are capable of it. It’s one of the many lies Heaven told you, and I know you’re still learning how to _un_ learn all of that. But I love you with my entire being, and my entire heart. It is contrary to my nature, but you know I’m a rebel. I fell for you a long time ago. I’ve fallen for you a million times, a million ways. And I...and I…” Crowley swallowed. “I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I wanted to tell you, anyway. You deserve to know…that you are loved.”

Crowley held her breath for a long moment, before releasing it in an explosive sigh.

She’d spent the past three weeks devising this note and gone through many iterations. Read a dozen romance novels, watched a hundred romances and romcoms. She even googled advice on how to confess love for someone, and this speech, which she now held in her hand, was the culmination of all of it. She’d read and practiced saying the words so many times that she no longer looked at the paper as she recited the speech. The words started to lose meaning the more she repeated them, and they were seared into her brain for eternity.

If she could say the forbidden words and feel a little bored doing so, then no doubt she’d be able to manage when the time actually came.

Glancing at her phone, Crowley swallowed past her apprehension. It was time. She was going to do it all properly, the whole ridiculous scheme. She dressed quickly in a new suit, more formal than her usual. Still strikingly black and tight, but with a proper red tie to match the lining of her jacket. There was a 40s flair to the suit, pinstriped through with grey, but still modern and dashing. Running her fingers through her short red hair to make sure it was all sitting how she liked it, Crowley turned a few ways before a full-length mirror and nodded sharply at her reflection.

She didn’t know a damn thing about flowers, so she picked up the roses from a local florist she’d inspected beforehand to see if they were good enough to grow flowers for her angel. Given a couple of years, she’d probably be able to learn how to grow roses herself a thousand times superior, but even she could see that that would just be stalling for time. She had done plenty of that, already. It had been over a year, after all.

The Bentley skid to a stop in front of the bookshop. If all went well, she had a reservation at the Ritz – seemed symbolic – and tickets to an opera. Aziraphale loved the music and Crowley loved the dramatics.

If all _didn’t_ go well…she’d already stocked up on alcohol and ice cream back at the flat, enough to kill a human from alcohol poisoning and sugar overdose a hundred times over.

Crowley sat for a few more minutes, psyching herself up before gathering the bouquet and jogging up to the bookshop doorstep. Instead of bursting in as usual, she took a deep breath, raised her fist…

Damned Heaven, what was she _doing?_

Was she seriously going to confess. Her love. To Aziraphale?

_What was she thinking?_

She couldn't do that _was she completely insane?!_

She blinked rapidly. No no no, it was fine. She had already gone over this. She didn’t want to hide anymore, she wanted to be honest. She wanted to...to take her shot, as the humans said. And she was prepared! She had a speech!

Angel,” she muttered quickly, under her breath. “We’veknowneachotherforthousandsofyearsI’dliketothinkthatwe’vebeenfriendsformostofitthoughcircumstanceskeptusapartformuchofthertimeI’vealwaysvalued–”

The door suddenly swung open, nearly sending the demon sprawling as she staggered back. “Whuh?” she said elegantly.

Aziraphale peered out from the doorframe, the wild curls and tiny glasses suggesting she’d been reading – real shocker, that. “What are you doing out here, Crowley? I heard the Bentley pull up almost ten minutes ago. I started to think something had gone wrong!”

“Uh, my bad, angel,” Crowley said. “Erm, didn’t mean to wait that long.”

“Well, what are you waiting for now? Why don’t you come inside; I’ll put on some tea.” Aziraphale paused, looking her and up and down with a small smile. “Lovely suit, by the way. I told you those old styles always have a way of coming back around, my dear.”

“Er, uh, yeah,” she said eloquently, her heart rate picking up speed as she crossed the threshold and followed Aziraphale to the backroom. She tucked her sunglasses in her pocket as she went. “Uh, before tea – er, no, that is, I have. Uh.”

Aziraphale turned to look at her then, all curious, bright eyes.

Crowley wordlessly held out the flowers.

“Oh, these are for me?” The angel had the audacity to look genuinely surprised, as though Crowley had shown up at her door holding flowers for some other reason.

“Angel, we’ve…” Crowley swallowed, sticking her hands in her pockets, which quickly expanded to actually make that possible. She knew the words, she just had to say them. “We’ve known...we’ve been friends...and remarkably spatial – special! Not spatial. Um.”

Her brain supplied a terrifying blank of white noise and incomprehensible bits of Latin.

“Is there something wrong, Crowley? Are you okay?” Aziraphale looked properly worried now.

_Just say the blessed words!_ Crowley growled at herself and spun around to scrub her hands over her face. _Pull yourself together. Come on_. She turned back, mouth opening to speak, but absolutely no words came to her.

Aziraphale took a step forward, setting down the roses on the armchair cushion as she did. “My dear–”

“IloveyouwithmyentirebeingandmyentiresheartIfellforyoualongtimeagoI’vefallenforyouamilliontimesamillionwaysandIunderstandifyoudon’tfeelthesamebutIwantedtotellyouanywayyoudeservetoknowthatyouareloved,” Crowley burst out in one long, inhuman breath. She stood there, heaving for air, a hand over her sinking heart.

Aziraphale blinked a few times. “Um. What?”

Crowley continued to gasp for breath. “Thought…that was…pretty clear.”

“You spoke so fast, my dear, I didn’t really catch it. Was there something about filet mignon in there?”

Crowley glared at her incredulously. What was she even hearing? She’d just fucking confessed her love and Aziraphale hadn’t gotten it? _Are you kidding me?_ “Said…said that I… _oh, fuck,”_ she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut tight. She couldn’t say it again, she just couldn’t.

“C…Crowley?”

Arms crossed over her body like a shield, the demon opened her eyes, giving up breathing altogether. She couldn’t remember anything she’d written for her speech now. “I’m…I’m trying to tell you I – that I…”

“What is it? I promise, whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

Crowley’s eyes were pleading. “Can…I can’t say it. Can I show you?”

Aziraphale looked confused, but eager to assist. “Of course.”

In two long-legged strides, Crowley crossed the space between them. Trembling, she swept up one of Aziraphale’s hands in both of hers, bent slightly, and kissed each fingertip, each knuckle. She trailed kisses down and turned her hand, pressing a careful, reverent kiss to the angel’s palm and a lingering one to her wrist.

She looked up through her eyelashes to see Aziraphale blushing violently, mouth agape.

Crowley stepped back multiple times, releasing the hand and letting her own arms fall, dangling loose at her sides. She kept a studied gaze on Aziraphale’s Oxfords, unable to look her in the eye. “So, um yeah. That’s...yeah.”

Aziraphale fiddled with her hands, tugging nervously on sleeves and smoothing her front. Never a good sign when an angel started fiddling. “S-So, to be clear…” Aziraphale said, painfully slow, “you have an, erm, romantic inclination toward my – my person?”

“You could…clinically put it like that,” she choked out.

“Well, well that’s…awfully convenient.”

Crowley’s head snapped up. “It is?”

Aziraphale was beaming at her, still a delightful pink. She already looked cherubic at any given time, but she could have been a damn tree topper. “I, also, have a romantic inclination toward you, my dear.”

Crowley couldn’t have stopped the smile that cracked across her face then, not with all the powers of Hell and Heaven combined. She suddenly understood all those clichés about feeling light as air and all that shit. Still, she rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Just say you love me, you idiot.”

For a moment, Crowley freaked internally _too fast too fast,_ but then Aziraphale giggled, all cute-like, and the anxiety dissipated instantly. “I do, indeed, love you,” Aziraphale said softly, wonderingly, like she couldn’t believe she could say it. “I’m positively infatuated, my dear demon.”

Crowley breached the distance between them first, taking one tiny step closer, then a second. “My dear angel,” she said softly, something terrifyingly similar to _hope_ coalescing in her chest, “may I…show you something else, then?”

Like some sort of cliché commentary on the balance of morality, Aziraphale took the last two steps between them, closing the distance so they met in the middle. “I admit myself curious,” she said with a slight tease as her hands wound around Crowley’s waist.

Crowley didn’t have any wits remaining, so she simply cupped Aziraphale’s face in her hands, leaned down those few centimeters, and kissed her.

Explosions, fireworks, softness, warmth down to her very toes, her foot _fucking popped_ behind her – she was starting to regret those romance novels and films; Aziraphale would never let her live it down. The one thing every romance novel had ever gotten wrong was that it didn’t feel like the culmination of anything, it didn’t feel like an inevitable beginning nor end. It felt very much like a middle – something prefaced by a history worth remembering, and promising a future worth savoring.

Satan bless it all, when had she become such a bleeding _sap?_

The kiss was brief, fleeting, nothing more than a press of lips together. Crowley leaned in to add another, then another, each a little longer than the last. By the fifth, both of them were grinning like complete idiots and their teeth clacked together. Aziraphale had the gall to giggle again and Crowley was done for, completely done for.

“Is that what you were trying to say, earlier?” Aziraphale asked, eyes sparkling.

Crowley shrugged (as though nonchalance was even possible right then) and went for broke, wrapping her arms around Aziraphale’s neck. “Close enough.”

“You...you were always so much braver than me,” the angel whispered into the space between. “The past year, I…I wanted to say something, but I…Heaven just…”

“I know, angel. I know.” There were no hard feelings, not about this. Her angel loved her back and was able to tell her. That was...more than Crowley had dared hope for. Darting back in for another kiss, Crowley said, “Funny you should mention filet mignon, though. I happen to have a reservation for two at–”

“The Ritz?” Aziraphale cut in knowingly.

“You bastard, let me have my dramatic reveal!”

Aziraphale’s hand moved from Crowley’s waist to the jacket pocket and patted the crinkling tickets with eyebrows raised in question. “Theatre tickets?”

“Opera.”

“You wonderful creature.”

Crowley snarled half-heartedly to cover up the blush that tinged her cheeks. “Oh, shut up. Let me dangle you on my arm in front of the London public, angel. Come on.” She released Aziraphale long enough to brazenly take up a hand, all fears dashed on the adrenaline high of kissing.

“When are the reservations?”

“Whenever we show up.”

“My dear–”

“I didn’t know how long this would take, don’t blame me. Oh!” Crowley turned back to her. “Want to have a movie marathon at my place this week?”

“Um, I suppose? You know that’s not really–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick ones you like. I just... _happen_ to have a lot of ice cream.”

“Ah, well, we’d be remiss to let it go to waste.”

Some Years Later

South Downs

Crowley laid sprawled across the couch, her head propped in Aziraphale’s lap. Her angel held a book in one hand, the other free to roam through Crowley’s hair gently, soothingly, as rain kissed the windows.

The demon would’ve choked on how sweet it was if she wasn’t being slowly lulled to sleep by the careful caresses through her locks. Oh, she was weak, so weak for this.

“Dear…what was it you said, then?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, interrupting the quiet and pausing in her movements.

“Hmm?”

“That day you came to my shop, with the roses.”

Crowley opened one serpentine eye, vaguely miffed she’s stopped her _petting._ “I give you roses all the time, angel, ‘cause you’re a great big bloody sap.” Nevermind who was the one growing said roses.

“No, no, the first time,” Aziraphale clarified, setting aside the book. “When you first kissed me. What were you trying to say?”

Crowley blushed and turned her face into Aziraphale’s stomach. “Mmm. N’ffin.’”

“Goodness. Now I really insist you tell me,” Aziraphale replied teasingly, running an unfair hand through Crowley’s hair again.

“I just...I wrote...a thing,” she mumbled as she melted against Aziraphale’s body.

“A thing?”

“Well.” Crowley paused. “I may or may not have written and memorized a speech to practice confessing my feelings for you? And then got too nervous to say it properly?”

When there came no reply, Crowley forced herself to roll onto her back to see Aziraphale better. The angel’s expression was one of awe as she cupped Crowley’s red cheeks. “Oh, dearest…”

Crowley scowled. “Don’t look at me like that, you _know_ I can’t think when you do that face.”

Aziraphale chuckled, before glancing askance the way she did when she wanted something but thought herself silly for it. “Do you...still have it memorized, by any chance…?”

“...Erm, yeah.”

“Will you...would you say it for me?”

Crowley’s eyes went soft, and she sat up properly, facing her angel and taking up her hands, the way she’d first planned to those years ago. The memory of pacing in a cold, austere flat felt so far away, here in a warm home they shared. But still, she smiled, and the words came with ease, ones she meant no matter how many times she’d said them. “‘Angel, we’ve known each other for thousands of years. I’d like to think...’”

**Author's Note:**

> (Aziraphale cries by the time Crowley is done reciting her speech. Then they probably act all sweet on each other for a while and kiss and such nonsense. Crowley is, once again, completely done for. But so is her angel, so that’s okay.)  
> This all started because whenever I’ve done theatre, I tend to say my lines much too fast when I’m nervous, and I figured A. J. “Sashaying Anxiety” Crowley might relate. Thankfully, I’ve never gone brain-static on stage like poor Crowley here.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> .  
> EDIT: A comment from Luinlothana inspired a lil continuation. They wondered if Crowley still had the speech she wrote, and figured Aziraphale might insist on then framing it. I then wrote this, which I wanted to put here for your enjoyment:  
> .  
> Crowley had saved her speech away in a box of keepsakes. Underneath it, Aziraphale added her own little cliche addition:  
>  "Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
>  Doubt that the sun doth move,  
>  Doubt truth to be a liar,  
>  But never doubt I love."  
> "Wow, stealing William's words, angel? Bit cheap don't you think?" Crowley teased, leering over her shoulder. She pointedly made no mention of the multiple drafts that included complete renditions of certain sonnets.  
> "Oh, I'm not," Aziraphale said breezily as she hammered a nail into the wall and took the frame from Crowley, who'd been obediently holding it for her. "He stole mine."  
> Crowley blinked. "He what now?"  
> "You think you're the only one old Will 'borrowed' from, what with your Cleopatra line?"  
> "Um, yes?"  
> "Oh, dear. You clearly haven't been paying attention." She stepped back and tilted her head at the framed letter. "Does it seem centered?"  
> "It's fine, angel. Still don't see why you want it framed, anyway. 'S not even a good love confession."  
> Aziraphale's eyes twinkled when she turned to look at her. "It worked, didn't it?"  
> "...No, it literally didn't. I couldn't even get the words out."  
> "But the effort-"  
> "Was wasted-"  
> "Was beautiful and I loved it-"  
> "It was a disaster is what it was-"  
> "Oh, hush, will you?" Aziraphale gave her The Pout.  
> "Oh, don't do the face, we've gone over this. You can't weaponize your cuteness, it's entirely unfair-"  
> "You're ridiculous. I love you."  
> "Ghh." Crowley pecked her on the cheek. "I'm going outside. You're going to tell me every line William stole from you later."  
> Aziraphale grinned as she went. "Do be more encouraging with that poor hydrangea; it's doing it's best, you know."  
> "It's best is subpar," she called back.  
> "Crowley-"  
> .  
> And so on. <3


End file.
